The Rebirth of a Phoenix
by DemonicDragoness
Summary: Harry Potter wasn't supposed to fall into the Basin of Time, inside which time rewinds. It was an accident. Now only 14 months old and in the hands of the Dark Lord, what will become of him? Who will he become? AU, T just in case.
1. To Be Young Again

Disclaimer: I'm not J.K. Rowling.

Chapter 1: To Be Young Again

by DemonicDragoness

A/N: Underlined parts of this chapter are from Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix pg. 784-788, 790, and 806 (US version)

. . .

**  
**A jet of red light had shot from the end of Bellatrix Lestrange's wand, but Malfoy had deflected it. His spell caused hers to hit the self a foot to the left of Harry and several of the glass orbs there shattered.

Two figures, pearly white as ghosts, fluid as smoke, unfurled themselves from the fragments of broken glass upon the floor and each began to speak. Their voices vied with each other, so that only fragments of what they were saying could be heard over Malfoy and Bellatrix's shouts.

"… _at the Solstice will come a new…"_ said the figure of an old, bearded man.

"DO NOT ATTACK! WE NEED THE PROPHECY!"

"He dared — he dares —" shrieked Bellatrix incoherently. "— He stands there — filthy half-blood —"

"WAIT UNTIL WE'VE GOT THE PROPHECY!" bawled Malfoy.,

"… _and none will come after…"_ said the figure of a young woman.

The two figures that had burst from the shattered spheres had melted into thin air. Nothing remained of them or their erstwhile homes but fragments of glass upon the floor. They had, however, given Harry an idea. The problem was going to be conveying it to the others.

"You haven't told me what's so special about this prophecy I'm supposed to be handing over," he said, playing for time. He moved his foot slowly sideways, feeling around for someone else's.

"Do not play games with us, Potter," said Malfoy.

"I'm not playing games," said Harry, half his mind on the conversation, half on his wandering foot. And then he found someone's toes and pressed down upon them. A sharp intake of breath behind him told him they were Hermione's.

"What?" she whispered.

"Dumbledore never told you that the reason you bear that scar was hidden in the bowels of the Department of Mysteries?" said Malfoy sneeringly.

"I — what?" said Harry, and for a moment he quite forgot his plan. "What about my scar?"

"_What?"_ whispered Hermione more urgently behind him.

"Can this be?" said Malfoy, sounding maliciously delighted; some of the Death Eaters were laughing again, and under cover of their laughter, Harry hissed to Hermione, moving his lips as little as possible, "Smash shelves —"

"Dumbledore never told you?" Malfoy repeated. "Well, this explains why you didn't come earlier, Potter, the Dark Lord wondered why —"

"— when I say go —"

"— you didn't come running when he showed you the place where it was hidden in you dreams. He thought natural curiosity would make you want to hear the exact wording…."

"Did he?" said Harry. Behind him he felt rather than heard Hermione passing his message to the others and he sought to keep talking, to distract the Death Eaters. "So he wanted me to come and get it, did he? Why"

"Why?" Malfoy sounded incredulously delighted "Because the only people who are permitted to retrieve a prophecy from the Department of Mysteries, Potter, are those about whom it was made, as the Dark Lord discovered when he attempted to use others to steal it for him."

"And why did he want to steal a prophecy about me?"

"About both of you, Potter, about both of you… Haven't you ever wondered why the Dark Lord tried to kill you as a baby?"

Harry stared into the slitted eyeholes though which Malfoy's gray eyes were gleaming. Was this prophecy the reason Harry's parents had died, the reason he carried his lightning-bolt scar? Was the answer to all of this clutched in his hand?

"Someone made a prophecy about Voldemort and me?" he said quietly, gazing at Lucius Malfoy, his fingers tightening over the warm glass sphere in his hand. It was hardly larger than a Snitch and still gritty with dust. "And he's made me come and get it for him? Why couldn't he come and get it himself?"

"Get it himself?" shrieked Bellatrix on a cackle of mad laughter. "The Dark Lord, walk into the Ministry of Magic, when they are so sweetly ignoring his return? The Dark Lord, reveal himself to the Aurors, when at the moment they are wasting their time on my dear cousin?"

"So he's got you doing his dirty work for him, has he?" said Harry. "Like he tried to get Sturgis to steal it — and Bode?"

"Very good, Potter, very good…" said Malgoy slowly "But the Dark Lord knows you are not unintell —"

"NOW!" yelled Harry.

Five different voices behind him bellowed "REDUCTO!" Five curses flew in five different directions and the shelves opposite them exploded as they hit. The towering structure swayed as a hundred glass spheres burst apart, pearly-white figures unfurled into the air and floated there, their voices echoing from who knew what long-dead past amid the torrent of crashing glass and splintered wood now rained sown upon the floor —

"RUN!" Harry yelled, and as the shelves swayed precariously and more glass spheres began to pour from above, he seized a handful of Hermione's robes and dragged her forward, one arm over his head as chunks of shelf and shards of glass thundered down upon them. A Death Eater lunged forward through the cloud of dust and Harry elbowed him hard in the masked face. They were all yelling, there were cries of pain, thunderous crashes as the shelves collapsed upon them-selves, weirdly echoing fragment of the Seers unleashed from their spheres —

Harry found the way ahead clear and saw Ron, Ginny, and Luna sprint past him, their arms over their heads. Something heavy struck him on the side of the face but he merely ducked his head and sprinted onward; a hand caught him by the shoulder; he heard Hermione shout _"Stupefy!"_ and the hand released him at once.

They were at the end of row ninety-seven; Harry turned right and began to sprint in earnest. He could heat footsteps right behind him and Hermione's voice urging Neville on. The door through which they had come was ajar straight ahead, Harry could see the glittering light of the bell jar, he pelted through it, the prophecy still clutched tight and safe in his hand, waited for the others to hurtle over the threshold before slamming the door behind them —

"_Colloportus!"_ gasped Hermione and the door sealed itself with an odd squelching noise.

"Where — where are the others?" gasped Harry.

He had thought that Ron, Luna, and Ginny had been ahead of them, that they would be waiting in this room, but there was nobody there.

"They must have gone the wrong way!" whispered Hermione, terror in her face.

"Listen!' whispered Neville.

Footsteps and shouts echoed from behind the door they had just sealed. Harry put his ear close to the door to listen and heard Lucius Malfoy roar: "Leave Nott, leave him, I say, the Dark Lord will not care for Nott's injuries as much as losing that prophecy — Jugson, come back here, we need to organize! We'll split into pairs and search, and don't forget, be gentle with Potter until we've got the prophecy, you can kill the others if necessary — Bellatrix, Rodolphus, you take the left, Crabbe, Rabastan, go right — Jugson, Dolohov, the door straight ahead — Macnair and Avery, thought here — Rookwood, over there — Mulciber, come with me!"

"What do we do?" Hermione asked Harry, trembling from head to foot.

"Well, we don't stand here waiting for them to find us, for a start," said Harry. "Let's get away from this door…"Sounds came from beyond the door, and Harry could just make out a whispered _"Alohomora"_

"GO!" They ran toward the bell jar they had seen earlier, where the hummingbird had hatched and unhatched,but than a voice shouted out "ACCIDO!" The tripping jinx hit, and then Harry was falling…

It was as though he were in slow motion, hands flailed out in front of him in an effort to catch himself on the bell jar. The others awaited a_thump_, a crash against glass, and for him to simply push off to keep running, but his body sunk through, as though he were a ghost sliding through a wall. The prophecy shimmered briefly when it came in contact with the surface of the bell jar, then exploded in brilliant, magical light.

When the light cleared, they stared in awe. Harry was de-aging, hard angles softening, hair becoming thin and soft. The Death Eaters then jerked themselves out of their stupor and the one called Jugson cried out _"Stupefy! Stupefy!"_ as Dolohov cried _"Accio Harry Potter!"_ Two _thumps_ were heard. Dolohov stared at the 14 month old baby in his arms. Quivering, he yelled out "I've got him, over here!" and wondered whether he wanted to laugh at the boy's **— **no,baby's capture, or cry at losing the prophecy.

Saying that the Death Eaters were shocked would be like saying the Cruciatus was painful: understatement of the year. So when the cause of this astonishment, a baby Harry Potter, began to wail, nobody really knew what to do, even those who had already raised children. Should they comfort their master's arch-nemesis? Surely not. In the end, Lucius mentally shook himself and cast a silencio on him.

"We should leave," he stated.

"What about them?" asked Rookwood, pointing at the unconscious teens on the floor. All five had been captured.

"Tie them up, then obliviate them. Confound them too. Also, someone collect Potter's wand." The Death Eaters rushed to comply. As an afterthought, Lucius pointed his own wand at the dazed children.

"_Mortus Magus!"_ he hissed, twisting his wand into a complex rune, and repeated the curse on each of the five. Then he pointed the wand at Hermione, drew another, less complex symbol, and said, _"Infelix!"_ He nodded to his fellows. "Let's go."

The twelve pops from their apparition still lingered in the air when the Order of the Phoenix arrived, just barely too late.

. . .

**Malfoy Manor**

. . .

Tom Marvalo Riddle, also known as Lord Voldemort, wondered what was taking his Death Eaters so long. As though summoned by his thoughts, a rapping sound came from the door.

"Enter," he commanded, and Lucius Malfoy walked in, a cloth-covered bundle in his arms. _The prophecy!_ he thought, before realizing that it was much to large to be one of the tiny spheres prophecies were contained in. _Did they steal something else, as well?_

"My lord," Lucius murmured as he crawled up on his knees and kissed the hem of the snake-like man's robe.

"Lucius, report."

"The mission was a… partial success, my lord."

"Oh? How so?"

"We lost the prophecy, but —"

"You lost the prophecy? You imbecile! How did you lose it? Did the Order capture it?" Thankful his lord wasn't torturing him, Lucius quickly answered.

"It, it exploded, my lord, when it fell into the Basin of Youth, but —"

"And whose fault was this?!"

"Jugson's, I believe was said. He cast a tripping jinx on Potter, and —"

"Did you not tell them to be gentle with the prophecy?"

" I did my lord! Some good did come of it, though!" Lucius rushed out before the Dark Lord could cut him off again.

"Really? Explain."

"Potter tripped, sir, and he fell into the Basin of Time. He… well… perhaps you should see for yourself." He unwrapped a bit of the bundle and lifted it up for Lord Voldemort to see. It was a baby, with tear-stained cheeks, a tiny nose, huge, bright green eyes, and obviously under a strong Silencio, if his wide open mouth was anything to go by. A wand was tucked into the blanket with him. Most notable was the baby's _unmarked_ forehead. The Dark Lord took him into his arms.

"_Cognomentum"_ Ghostly letters that floated over the baby spelled out 'Harry Potter" as well as the Potter family crest. Seeing this, Voldemort began to chuckle, then full out laugh. Baby Harry seemed to feel less threatened by the cackling Dark Lord and quit crying. Lucius ended the silencio. Soon Voldemort calmed himself.

"What else happened?" Lucius smirked.

"Potter brought along five of his little friends. We captured them all, and I cast the Dead Magic curse on them, as well as the Infertility curse on the mudblood. Only Nott was seriously injured."

"Excellent, Lucius." The Dark Lord fell silent, then asked, "Do you have a house-elf accustomed to raising children?" Lucius blinked.

"Y…yes my lord."

"Summon it."

"Yes, my lord. Tinky!" A female house-elf dressed in a clean blue pillowcase popped in.

"Yes, master, sir?"

"Do anything the Dark Lord instructs you to."

"Master's master, sir?"

"Prepare a nursery beside my rooms. Use the finest quality materials available and fill it with anything a child around a year old could want. Then come back when that is done."

"Yes, master's master, sir."

"My lord?" Lucius questioned.

"As far as magic is concerned, with both the boy and the sphere having fallen into the Basin of Time, the prophecy and Potter's marking never happened. This child is now a magically powerful orphan at my disposal. I can use this child. I will make him...a Dark Prince." Voldemort smirked to himself for a moment, then turned back to Lucius. "You will find an blood-binding adoption ritual, one that will remove his tainted blood from his mother and replace it with mine. You will prepare it and then alert me."

Lucius hurried to obey

. . .

**Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry**

. . .

"How are they, Poppy?" asked Professor Dumbledore, looking at the five occupied beds in the Infirmary. He was frowning, forehead was creased with worry.

"Not good," she sighed, a sad look on her face. She brushed a stray lock of hair from her face. "I can do very little for the curses cast of them. They are squibs now, and the Dead Magic curse, when cast correctly, as this one was, is irreversible. Then there's poor Ms. Granger."

"What happened?" asked the Headmaster, concerned.

"The Infertility curse, if my scans are correct." The medi-witch frowned.

"Isn't that counterable, if treated fast enough?"

"It's the rune version," she replied unhappily. "It's impossible to remove."

They looked down at the sleeping teens in silence.

"They took him, didn't they?"

"Who do you mean, Poppy?" She scowled

"Don't be coy with me, Albus. The Dead Eaters, they took Mr. Potter, didn't they?" The old man sighed.

"Alas, it is true. I have my people on the look-out." The medi-witch looked at him sharply.

"Find him, Albus. If anything happens to that poor boy, I will hold _you_ responsible." With that, she walked away and retired to her office.

"You and I both, Poppy, you and I both."

. . .

**Malfoy Manor**

. . .

"Master's master, sir, I have done as you asked," said Tinky, who had just popped in.

"Lead me to the room," commanded Lord Voldemort.

"Yes, master's master." She meekly walked through tastefully decorated halls of Malfoy Manor, Voldemort at her heels. After several turns and two sets of stairs, they arrived at beautifully stained cherry-wood door. The elf snapped her fingers, and it opened.

The room was rather large, with walls colored a pale leaf green and carpeting that was soft and cream-colored. The ceiling was enchanted to look like the sky on a summer day, complete with false sunlight (won't burn your skin or hurt your eyes!) and clouds that lazily floated by. A crib stood in one corner, with plush, animated magical creatures cantering around inside, and a wardrobe sure to contain clothes of a princely quality stood in another corner. A puffskein sat purring on the floor, surrounded by pet accessories.

A giant landscape covered an entire wall, the scene being half meadow, half forest, with majestic mountains in the background. A phoenix could be seen flying around the mountains' peaks. A unicorn of almost unearthly beauty peeked out of the trees. Crup puppies tussled in the meadow, tails wagging, under their mother's watchful eye. Erklings laughed in the distance. Diricawls popped up occasionally, looked around, and then popped away.

Lord Voldemort (who looked extremely out of place in such an un-dark-lordish room) saw this all with approval. Though the blood-adoption ritual would give the boy enough dark blood to survive among his minions, the Potter family was still almost exclusively a light blood family, and the room would supply the light necessary for the child to not feel oppressed. He swiftly set a few child-safety wards, and cast a self-cleaning charm on the carpet, furniture, and walls. Then he placed Harry in the crib, and the baby immediately set upon the plush toys. Then he seemed confused, and looked up at his new care-taker.

"Mama? Papa?" he asked.

"They won't be back," said the Dark Lord. "I'm your father now."

"Pafoot? Mooey? Wumy?"

"They are gone too."

"Bye bye?"

"Yes." Harry looked troubled.

"Want Mama!" he demanded.

"She is gone," repeated Voldemort.

"Mama!" the baby repeated, and began to wail loudly. The older wizard was at a loss of what to do. Perhaps Wormtail would know. He used to be Potter Sr.'s friend. Or Narcissa. She raised a child. He beckoned Tinky over and told her to fetch the two. Peter arrived first. He gaped.

"My lord, is that…?"

"Harry Potter, yes. You knew him as a child. What can be done to silence him?"

"Er… well Lily used to rock him back and forth…" His lord shot him a menacing look. "Um… He used to have these animal toys, a stag, a black dog, a wolf, and… and, a rat, my lord." A less imposing man would have rolled his eyes at Wormtail. Nonetheless, the Dark Lord picked out a few of the soft toys in Harry's crib to transfigure into the aforementioned animals and floated them in front of the boy. He stopped crying and reached out to grab the stag. Then he saw Peter.

"Wumy! Want Mama!"

"Er… Mama's gone, Harry."

"No! Want Mama!" he screamed, and resumed his crying. At that moment the door opened, and Narcissa entered. "My lord, what can I do for you?" she asked, voice raised to be heard over Harry's shrieks.

"Calm the boy!" commanded Voldemort. Narcissa nodded, and scooped the baby up, turning away from the Dark Lord and letting her cool façade drop.

"Shhhh, shhh, don't cry, darling," she crooned, swaying back and forth. She summoned what wandless skills she had to add compulsion to her voice, a somewhat dark practice perfected by the women of the Black family. "Calm down You're safe. All's good." Harry's cries lessened, then stopped all together. "Sleep now," she urged, and he obeyed, closing his bright green eyes. She placed him back in the crib and looked thoughtfully at the stag he was clutching. Then the witch pulled out her wand and placed a calming spell on it, as well as a reassurance spell. Finally she slipped her uncaring mask back on, and faced her lord.

"Do you require anything else, my lord?" she inquired.

"No, that will be all, Narcissa, though I would like you to remain close by to help care for this child. On that matter—Tinky!"

"Yes, master's master, sir?"

"Create a portal from this room to Narcissa's, elf"

"Yes, master's master." Tinky concentrated, and then snapped her fingers. A door appeared.

"That should enable you to reach the child easily, Narcissa. Do whatever you deem necessary. Elf, you are assigned to the care of this child. If there is a problem, tell Narcissa or me." With that, he walked out of the room to his own down the hall. The Dark Lord sank into a chair to wait for Lucius to come tell him when the ritual preparations were done.

. . .

**Malfoy Manor  
**_5:47a.m._

. . .

_Tap tap tap_

"Enter, Lucius." The blonde man obeyed, and nodded his head towards his lord, who was sitting in a plush, thestral-leather armchair by a large fireplace. The walls were a deep Slytherin green, and the carpet was black. Occasional silver accents were placed about the room.

"Come sit, and tell me about the ritual you have set up." Lucius, tired as he was, having worked the entire night, gratefully sank into an armchair beside his master and accepted the glass of wine he was passed. Many a person would be shocked at how hospitable Lord Voldemort was acting, but a little-known fact (outside of pureblood circles) was that in his private chambers (in which only the Inner Circle members were allowed) he was quite cordial. It was pureblood custom that personal rooms were sanctuaries in which no trickery be done and no hostility shown.

"The ritual will bleed out the impure blood, and replace it with your own from a cut in your left palm. Then it will blend into Harry's make-up and form new physical features, as well as combine the natures of the two bloods. At that time you will take a ritual knife and cut both of your right palms and press them together. That will create a family bond, and will likely give you back a more… natural appearance. The ritual will then place both of you into a magical sleep in which the bond will cement and the changes in appearance will stabilize."

"Is it painful?"

"There are reports of soreness and some light-headedness from the adopter, but otherwise it tends to be a rather safe procedure, as long as the child is still very young. With an older child, there are complications due to the amount of blood the adopter would lose. This ritual was actually rather common not long ago, before the old coot outlawed it due to the use of blood-magic."

"Can another's blood be mixed into the ritual?"

"Yes, my lord. Often a person will add their spouse's blood to the ritual bowl. May I ask whose blood you will be using?"

"When I was at Hogwarts, I found the most marvelous thing in one of the side-chambers connected to the Chamber of Secrets. A dozen pint bottles of Salazar Slytherin's blood were preserved under a stasis charm. I never had a chance to use them; I had already done a blood-purification ritual that, while being very painful due to it forcefully making your body create more blood at a rapid pace, allowed me to choose my own features. I was forced to make myself look like I always had. Dumbledore was watching me too closely for me to create a new appearance. Anyway, I took a few vials with me when I left Hogwarts." Lucius' eyes were wide with awe. _Slytherin's_ blood!"

"I must say I am very envious of the future Dark Prince. Here is a list of full instructions. Please be ready to enter the Bathing chamber by six-fifty. The ritual will begin at seven o'clock."

. . .

**Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry**

. . .

Ginny was the first to stir. She forced her gummed-up eyes open and looked around.

"Ah, you have at last woken up, Ms. Weasley," stated Madam Pomfrey.

"What am I doing here, Ma'am?" The medi-witch pursed her lips.

"Obliviated, I knew it… What is the last thing you remember, dear?"

"Er… finding Harry and Hermione in the forest. Do you know what happened?"

By this time the other four were coming round.

"Wazza goin' on?" mumbled Ron.

"In an act of grave stupidity, children, you all managed to somehow get to the Ministry of Magic. Then you had a run-in with the Death Eaters… my goodness, I've never had to give such bad news…"

"Madam Pomfrey, what bad news?" prompted Hermione, a knot in her gut.

"I'm afraid they hit you all with a Dead Magic curse." Hermione gasped.

"We're squibs?!" she asked, distraught. The matronly lady passed them all cups of tea.

"Now drink up, dears. I can't give you calming draught, but that has quite a few of its ingredients. Can't have you going into shock, now." Shakily, the teens sipped. "I'm afraid it gets worse for Ms. Granger here. Are you familiar with the curse _Infelix_? Specifically the rune version?"

"Permanent infertility, acts sort of like muggle spermicide…" started Hermione, automatically answering until she realized what was she was saying. "They cast that on me?" she squeaked. Ron looked horrified.

"Yes, they did. I'm sorry, Ms. Granger." The girl sat in silence for a moment.

"Well, at least I never really wanted a child. But still, they took the choice away." Ron and Ginny looked shocked at her proclamation. They, as Weasleys, were very much parents-to-be, and couldn't imagine not wanting a child.

"You are wanted in the Headmaster's office, dears, but take it slow. Losing your magic tends to make one feel heavy and tired." They nodded, still shell-shocked, and left. Frankly, Poppy was glad. She didn't want to be there when the tea wore off.

. . .

**Malfoy Manor**

. . .

Lord Voldemort watched Harry crawl around in his crib, spending his last moments as a Potter. It was six thirty-four. The ritual to make Harry both pureblood and his son would begin at seven. He wondered what would change. He would lose any of his mother's looks he had. Then Voldemort's own genetics would be introduced to the child's system, likely changing his looks even more. He was almost sorry the boy would lose those bright green eyes.

The megalomaniac's own looks would change, due to the strong currents of blood magic. A tiny amount of Harry's blood would be absorbed by him. It would probably cause his old looks to resurface, with a few minor changes, and was he glad, really. His current look might cause people to be frightened into his ranks, but his former looks charmed many an influential person to his side.

It was six forty-one, and time to get down to the Bathing Chamber. He reached out and took hold of the boy. Many years of caring for the young children at his orphanage paid off, and the Dark Lord was able to comfortably arrange the baby in his arms. Harry giggled and tugged on his guardian's ear.

_If Albus could see Potter now, in my arms and about to be turned into a Riddle, he'd probably choke on his lemon drops._ Voldemort carried Harry down the hall and behind a tapestry into a hidden corridor that sloped down a few stories before opening up behind a portrait. From there he walked a short distance to an ebony door with ivory inlays.

"_Tempus."_ It was six forty-seven. Footsteps could be heard coming around the corner, and soon Lucius was there with them.

"My lord," he said, bowing. "The bath is prepared, and both ceremonial clothes are inside. Were the instructions sufficiently clear?"

"Indeed, Lucius."

"The door to the ritual chamber will open automatically at seven precisely. Good luck, my lord."

Voldemort opened the door to the Bathing Chamber. It was a large room, with a sunk-in bathtub capable of comfortably fitting twelve people inside, and already filled with special purifying potions and soaps. The whole room was built with marble and platinum, and had to have cost the Malfoys several thousand galleons. Voldemort perched Harry on a nearby counter and undressed them both, then carefully slid into the water. Again, his old babysitting skills showed themselves as Voldemort expertly washed the child before hurriedly cleaning himself. Then the Dark Lord managed to slip the silver-white ceremonial robes (likely unicorn hair. The Malfoy family certainly spared no expense on ritual supplies. Then again, the Malfoys were famous for specializing in rituals.) over Harry's head, despite the boy's wriggling.

He had just finished putting on his own robe when the door to the Ritual Chamber opened. He quickly scooped up Harry and walked into the middle of the blindingly white heptagonal room, taking care not to smear the charcoal pentacles and runes that covered much of the floor. At the center there was a pillar-like marble table with a bowl-like indent, which was surrounded by a very intricate pentacle. There was a space between the table and the perimeter of the pentacle that would easily hold both man and child. Voldemort poured a vial of blood into the bowl, then put Harry down and placed him under a slight compulsion spell. It was a standard magical precaution; if he were to step out of the pentacle during the ritual, not only would the ritual be ruined, but usually there was some amount of magical backlash.

"Don't be scared, child. This will make me your father," Voldemort told Harry. "Stand still."

"_Ego ascio _Harry James Potter_, ut purus cruor, meus semen, quod meus filius._" Here he brought out the ritual knife and sliced open his left hand, then did the same to Harry. The blood that Voldemort was allowing to pour from his hand into the bowl was almost luminescent. The blood that was leaving Harry was darker, caused by lack of magical nature, although any muggle doctor would find it completely normal. There _was_ a reason behind _'mudblood'_. The blood in the bowl was draining at the same rate as Harry was bleeding, replacing it. Soon all the 'impure' blood was gone, and both wounds healed themselves, leaving behind a thin scar. Then Voldemort sliced open their right palms, held the boy's hand, and said "_Ego nomen vos _Cain Renatus Riddle." They both felt a strange tingling, a sense of belonging, before they were magically rendered unconscious.

. . .

**Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry  
**

. . .

"Damn, we don't have the password," grumbled Ron when he and the other teens reached the gargoyle that guarded the Headmaster's office.

"Ronald, language," Hermione automatically reprimanded. "We'll... just have to guess."

"That won't be necessary," said Dumbledore, who appeared to have just turned a corner and was approaching their group.

"Hey, where's Harry?" asked Neville, finally realizing who was missing. The others adopted worried expressions. Dumbledore ignored his question.

"Let's go up to my office, shall we? Fudge Flies." The Headmaster ushered them onto the revolving staircase and into the aforementioned office. He conjured extra chairs, and then sat down himself.

"Headmaster, do you know where Harry is?" asked Hermione.

"The Vermicious Knids got him, didn't they?" said Luna. Hermione gave her an odd look.

"I'm afraid I have very bad news to report. Harry Potter is currently missing. That is why I brought you up here. Would you be willing to allow me to look though your memories and see if I can find anything?"

"But Madam Pomfrey said they obliviated us, sir," said Ginny.

"Ah, nevertheless, I would like to try."

"I'll do it, sir. Anything to help find Harry," proclaimed Hermione.

"Excellent, my dear. Now, just think about what you _can_ remember and look into my eyes. _Legilimens!"_ He quickly sifted through her mind and found obvious traces of obliviation, but the spell-work was the Death Eater's modified version of obliviate. The adapted version acted like a porcupine quill, with mental barbs that made taking it out painful and often harmful to the victim. Dumbledore didn't dare try it.

"I'm afraid our enemy is rather clever. Attempting to take the block out would likely damage your mind. I'll have to ask Severus if he's seen anything." The teens' faces fell. "For now, let us pray for the best."

Just as he finished speaking, a small, twirling device on his desk let out a very loud beep, accompanied by a flash of light. When all of their visions cleared of spots, the device had stopped spinning. Greif filled Dumbledore's eyes.

"Oh my, oh dear, I hoped it wouldn't come to this."

"W—what is it, Professor?" asked Hermione, frightened.

"Harry Potter is no more."


	2. So, Now What?

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Chapter 2: So, What Now?

by DemonicDragoness

. . .

**Malfoy Manor  
**

. . .

With almost excruciating slowness Tom Riddle felt himself waking. _My mind has never felt so aware,_ he thought. _It's as though an oppressive cloud had been befuddling me for years._

Tom thought back on his actions, and wanted to smack himself. How could he have done all that? His goals had been total segregation from Muggles, not domination! Better quality education, with both light and dark magic being taught to those with the appropriate blood type! Not preying on light wizards and terrorizing children! And the binding of magic of muggleborns, because of their magic-less blood! Not going so far as to kill them!

"_Quaero furvus magus!_" A buzzing sound was heard, and then a sheet of parchment popped into existence over Tom's head. He snatched it out of the air.

"All these dark rituals… I may be dark-blooded, but still, this amount is dangerous… there it is, the very first one. An extremely old insanity ward, made to mimic the Fwooper's call."

He checked the date on the curse. "It hit me in my Hogwarts years. It was most likely the day I went into Salazar Slytherin's personal study for the first time… Perhaps the muggle blood I had then set it off…" _I remember that day. There were two portraits in that study. One was fervently talking about blood supremacy; the other was looking at the first with something akin to disgust. The latter tried to tell me about the ward, but I was listening to the former. I remember how incredible that first portrait seemed—His arguments all appeared to make perfect sense. Of course, they were based off the truth, but now I see it was twisted. Then there was the fiasco with the Basilisk. I changed my name… 'Flight of Death,' how idiotic! I might have just put a sign about my neck saying 'I'm afraid of Death'. Death Eaters, I don't even recall what made me name my followers _that_. I wastefully killed so many wizards, who would be needed so as not to become too inbred. Damn it, all that _shit _done because of slight insanity! _he thought. _But, no use crying over it now. Shouldn't Pot—No, Cain be around here?_

Tom looked around, and spotted the boy sleeping a little ways away. The ritual candles had all burnt out, and the room was very dark. He scooped Cain up and carried him out of the room and up the hidden passageway to the nursery. In the light of the room he was able to make out the child's new features. Though he had kept his former father's nose, his mouth was rather like how Tom remembered his own had been, and while his face was still chubby with baby fat, he could tell it was structured differently than before. Then Cain's eyes fluttered open, and Tom gasped. They were like twin pieces of icy green jade, so unlike the warm emerald they had been, even if they were both shades of the same color. The particular hue was haunting and beautiful, and a passage of a book about King Arthur came back to the elder Riddle.

"_Morgana, they say, had 'eyes of frost green, with brows high and arched, nose thin and cheeks lean'"_

Salazar Slytherin was said to have been a descendent of Morgan le Fay, a.k.a Morgana. Had Cain inherited her green eyes?

Tom also noticed that the baby's black hair was no longer messy and had lightened somewhat to a dark, rich brown. A shade that Tom knew was Slytherin's hair color as well.

"Excellent," approved Tom. All in all, Cain looked nothing like Harry Potter, and everything like a handsome pureblood prince.

"Fah-der?" asked Cain.

"Yes, I'm your father. And you are my son."

. . .

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

. . .

"He's dead?!" screamed Ginny. Tears ran down her and Hermione's cheeks. Ron looked lost and forlorn. Neville was snuffling and appeared brokenhearted. Luna frowned, eyes sad, an expression that she hadn't worn since her mother died.

"Most likely."

"Most likely? What do you mean?" inquired Luna

"The device you saw stops spinning in cases when a _person_ called _Harry Potter_ ceases to exist in this world. Other possibilities are that he is insane and no longer thinks of himself as Harry, he has been turned into some type of magical creature, he has been sent to an alternate dimension, has been kissed by a dementor, or his name has changed somehow." Dumbledore rubbed his temples, and for once looked very much all of one-hundred-fifteen years old. "Death is much more likely, and in some cases, preferable, than the other possible happenings."

. . .

**Malfoy Manor**

. . .

Once he had changed clothes and Cain had gone back to sleep (though this time non-magically), Tom conjured a mirror and inspected his own features. He looked very much as he had as a child: jet-black hair, pale skin, a tall, thin body. There were alterations: he thought his ears might be a bit different, his hair could have been a tad coarser, and of course he looked older, with small wrinkles here and there. However, he had only one large change, a pair of silver-gray eyes that replaced the red, and before then, black eyes he had owned. He _knew_ those grey eyes; the portraits of Salazar Slytherin had ones exactly like them. Tom was filled with awe.

A house-elf popped in and bowed low.

"Master's master, sir, a man be waiting in the room with the big chair, sir."

"Do you know who he is, elf?"

"Drooky is being sorry sir, Drooky doesn't know who the man be. He looks like a bat, sir, though."

"Ah, Severus then. You are dismissed." Tom gestured to Tinky, who was in the corner of the nursery creating a den so as to always be in the room.

"Tell me when he wakes."

"Yes, Master's master, sir!"

-

Severus Snape had been a triple agent for Dumbledore for many years. Understandably he was very attentive whenever he was in Death Eater territory. So when strong anti-portkey wards sprung up around the Dark Lord's throne hall, he felt it, and was uneasy. When he felt something far subtler enclose the room, his uneasiness grew, especially since he had never felt a ward quite like that one. But when the Dark Lord himself swept in, clad in his black, hooded robes, he forced his panic deep into his mind and bowed low.

"Get up, Severus, and come closer to me." The voice that spoke was different from Voldemort's. What was going on here? Despite his misgivings, he moved closer, until his master nodded for him to stop.

"Look into my eyes," the man hissed, but it didn't have the same inhuman quality as before. When Severus obeyed, he was startled to see silver-grey where he had once seen bloody red. Without warning (though Snape had suspected the reason behind the order and had reinforced his mental barriers) the Dark Lord (or the possible imposter) plunged into his mind. This time he completely ignored the 'upper' memories and feelings that masked the spy's true thoughts and dug deep. Soon he hit the double-agent's last defense, a mental shield like a fortress wall. He shaped his attack like a muggle drill and started boring a hole through it. Out in the real world Severus screamed in pain; it was beyond Cruciatus, and the spy had never felt so violated. After many agonizing moments the Dark Lord finally punched through.

"I should have known. You are a traitor and a spy. Now what shall I do with you?

Severus knew he wouldn't escape. Despair clawed at him. "Phoenix tears," he breathed, not daring to hope. A tug formed behind his navel. Would his emergency portkey work?

"I planned for that, Severus. You won't escape." Indeed, the yank was soon joined by another, pulling in the opposite direction. They fought in a mockery of a tug-o'-war, using what felt like his intestines for rope. The man clenched his teeth in pain. Many moments passed, as the ward-punching power of the portkey and the specialized anti-portkey ward conflicted, until finally the battle was won. He lurched, but remained in his master's throne hall. Hopelessness engulfed him.

"Do you realize, Severus, that had I discovered your treachery before today, you would have most certainly been killed? That I would have tortured you to the brink of insanity, carve the word 'traitor' into your flesh, and display you to the world? Now, however, I realize you still have uses." He smirked. "You will send a patronus to Dumbledore saying that you have been found out and are being pursued by Death Eaters, and that this will be the last time you will be able to send a message. Say you helped Potter try to escape, but he was caught by me and we destroyed each other. Don't try to put a hidden message in it, because I'll know, and you won't like the consequences." Despite his quivering limbs, Snape reluctantly raised his wand and cast the charm. A silver doe erupted from the tip of it. He told it its message (every word heard by Voldemort), and it nodded and glided away.

"It's no wonder I never saw your patronus. It is very much like Lily Potter's. With her lovely green eyes and long red hair, I can't blame you for falling in love with her."

"You know _nothing_ about love, you bastard," whispered Severus, his voice hoarse and shaky. He braced himself for the oncoming Crucio. It never hit.

"Perhaps not," said Tom conversationally. "Dumbledore certainly never thought so. But then, how could I, having never been loved? Come here, Severus." He stumbled closer to his master. Voldemort grabbed his left arm, pushing up the sleeve, and pressed a finger to his Dark Mark, thinking of only a few of his servants. Severus winced as it burned into his arm. His muscles spasmed, and he collapsed, unconscious. Tom levitated him to a corner.

Soon the members of the team who had gone to the Department of Mysteries arrived. They arranged themselves into a semi-circle before their lord, eyeing his new features by the corners of their eyes. Tom stroked his wand, a rare pleased expression crossing his face.

"My faithful servents," he began silkily, "I have grand news. The threat of Harry Potter is forever destroyed. The path to our goals is clear. I have a plan that will certainly crush our foes… all we need now is a bit of patience. Before I explain it, though, I would like to introduce someone. Or should I say, _re_-introduce."

_Pop!_

"Master's master, sir, he is being awake!" squeaked Tinky. The Death Eaters were taken aback. What was a house-elf doing here?

"Ah, what excellent timing. Bring him down to me."

"Yes, master's master, sir!" Quite suddenly Cain appeared and floated gently in front of him. The child looked completely confused; he still clutched his stuffed stag and was still rumpled with sleep. Then he spotted Tom and smiled.

"Fah-der!" He stretched his arms toward the man, who pulled him into his arms. The others—minus Lucius and Pettigrew—gasped.

"Harry Potter fell into the Basin of Time, and as a result, he is no longer a threat. I realized that it would be far more beneficial to make the infant Potter into my heir. He is now my son by blood-adoption." He narrowed his eyes. "You all will treat him with utmost respect, as he is also your master."

Nagini slithered up from her spot beneath his throne. _§Master, he smells of power.§_

_§Of course. He is of powerful blood.§_

"My lord, may I ask a question?" said Rodolphus. Tom turned his attention back to his followers.

"You may."

"What is his name?"

"I have named him Cain Riddle. _You_, however, will refer to him as 'young lord', or 'young master'." He brushed a stray lock of hair from his face. "Let's move on. I need time to prepare my son for a war. If it is raging while he is being raised, he will not get the training he requires. But, if I were to _stall_ it for a while… If we were to call a hiatus on our attacks for a decade or two, then when the Ministry is weak and off guard, attack full force, we will most certainly win. The light will believe me truly immortal. We will have more time to gain forces, to train our young, and build ourselves to what we were before my downfall nearly fifteen years ago. All of you here are young, in twenty years you will still be in your prime. We will be invincible." The Death Eaters mulled over his plan. While it would be frustrating to have to wait, it seemed nearly perfect.

"My lord, what of the Order of the Phoenix? They know you have returned," said Lucius. Tom explained what had happened with Severus.

"Will you kill him now, Master?" asked Bellatrix. "I would love to see him _scream_." She smirked at the spy's limp form.

"No. He still has his uses." Tom hissed. She was certainly unbalanced. Perhaps he could arrange for an accident…

He continued to lay out his plan. "You all will spread the word that there are to be no attacks unless I say so. The knowledge that my heir was Harry Potter is strictly classified, and his existence is to be limited to those whom I decide are trustworthy. Those of you in public, I want you to lightly hint of my supposed destruction. Those of you who are on the run…"

. . .

**Hogwart School of Witchcraft and Wizardry**

. . .

Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Neville, and Luna all walked back to their rooms, still feeling like they were in a living nightmare. As squibs, they couldn't attend Hogwarts, and so they were packing up to leave for home a few days earlier than their wizard and witch peers.

Hermione didn't know what she was going to tell her parents. They knew next to nothing about her adventures at Hogwarts, and the real dangers she had faced. It had taken her so long to convince them to let her go to the wizarding school. Now, five years behind her muggle year-mates, how would she succeed in life?

Ron and Ginny were absolutely horrified. Being a squib was a shameful thing among wizards. There were very few occupations in the Wizarding World where magic was not required, and all were extremely low-paying work. Filch's was probably among the best. Likely they would have to get jobs as muggles. How they wished they had taken muggle studies!

Neville was dreading returning to his grandmother. She'd scold him that he was a failure, a blot on the Longbottom family tree, and nothing like her precious, perfect Frank, the Auror, the war hero. What would his parents think if they were sane? Would they turn away in shame? Would they yell at him for being so foolish? Or maybe, just maybe they would understand, sympathize, hug him and kiss him and not care if he had magic or not, because he was their son. Neville hastily wiped away the tears that threatened to fall.

Luna knew her father would simply be glad she was alive. Her mother's death had somewhat unhinged him, though he had already been eccentric. Perhaps she could still be a reporter, or help him with the magazine design. Her dreams of being a famous magizoologist like Newt Scammander were done for. Everyone knew a Crumple-horned Snorkack wouldn't be caught dead next to a non-magical being.

Hermione opened her truck and reached into her pocket for her wand. She had just opened her mouth to make her belongings pack when she felt something strange. Though she had never realized it, right before she said a spell her magic would flow to her hand in preparation. Now her hand felt numb and empty. Her wand, which had always comforted her like a sort of security blanket, felt dead in her hand, as though it were just any piece of wood. Now the realization struck her hard. She would never, _never_ feel her magic coursing through her again. It was gone. Gone! Forever! A sob escaped her, and another. Soon she was crying hard, and before she could wake her roommates, she collapsed on her bed, burying her face in her pillow. A hand squeezed her shoulder gently. She looked up.

"Ginny?" she asked. Her friend was shaking slightly, and her eyes were as red rimmed. Hermione though she probably looked the same.

"I figured you might want company…" Ginny trailed off uncertainly. Hermione's heart wretched. How could she be so selfish, thinking her situation was bad! At least she would have the ability to near-seamlessly go back to being muggle. Ginny had always been around magic. She must be taking everything much harder! Hermione pulled her into a hug. They cried together.

"I wish Harry were here," whispered Ginny. Hermione sniffed, and then a wave of self-disgust filled her. Here she was, drowning in self-pity, and her friend was dead! As dead as the magic that used to flow in her, as dead as the life she could have had!

"I'll miss him so much," she said in a choked voice.

"At least—at least h-he's not bl-blaming himself. If he'd—If he'd have lived, h-he would b-be taking it h-harder than us."

"Yes, he always blamed hi-himself. I hope h-he's ha-happy now." She hiccupped. "We mu-must for strong for him!"

"Yes. We'll—we'll be strong! For Harry!"

"For Harry!" Hermione repeated after Ginny, and wiped her eyes. "Now... let's get packing. Tomorrow is going to be a long day."

. . .

**Malfoy Manor**

. . .

Tom smiled down at his son. Cain had fallen asleep in his arms as he directed his followers and had stayed asleep as he returned to the nursery. He gently placed him in his crib, then changed the 'settings' on the ceiling until it appeared to be a night sky with tiny sparkling stars and a full moon. Another spell caused gently music to play from nowhere. Then he left to deal with Snape.

When he reached the man, he was still unconscious. Tom cast spell after spell on Snape, snapping loyalty oaths and compulsions cast by Dumbledore, fixing his nervous system from the effects of mind penetration and Cruciatus, healing old scars, spell damage, and even his badly healed nose. Then he re-woke the him. Snape's eyes opened, and before he could even attempt occlumency, Tom was in and working on his mind. The injuries he had put him though in the legilimency were painstakingly fixed. Important information on the Order of the Phoenix was carefully harvested. Mental damage caused by abuse and isolation was reversed as much as was possible by magic. After he was done, he stupefied him.

Then Tom summoned an elf and told it to bring some vials of blood from a collection that he had accumulated over the years. If his plan was to work, Snape would have to look completely different. He chanted several parsel spells over him, blending a few drops of different vials, and poured the combined blood down Severus' throat. It was a type of blood magic that would shift his features like polyjuice. Only Tom could remove it, and it was undetectable by any means. Its downside was that it was incredible painful. He spelled him into a numb sleep. Immediately, Snape's skin began to bubble like a boiling cauldron, and he started to change. Deathly pale skin now had a pink cast, black hair became brilliant blonde, and large nose became smaller and rather thin. He had always been rather tall, but now he would tower. Snape's shoulders broadened slightly, his jaw line became angular, and his cheekbones could cut.

"Nothing like Severus at all. Perfect. Now to let him rest until faze to of my plan…"

. . .

**Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry**

**. . .**

Dumbledore looked up as a silvery doe glided through the walls of Hogwarts and landed gracefully in front of him. What was it doing here? The last person he had seen with that sort of Patronus was Lily Potter, and she was long dead. He was considerably startled when he heard it talk with Severus Snape's deep voice (and had a slight flash of guilt, he hadn't though Severus still loved Lily), but listened attentively as it relayed its message. When it was done, he smiled thinly, a sad, bittersweet gesture, and pushed a button under his desk to signal an emergency Order meeting. On his way to the floo, he grabbed a vial of Calming Draught. A bit in the tea would help everyone when they heard his news.

. . .

**Malfoy Manor**

**. . .**

When Severus awoke, he at first thought that he had died and perhaps gone to a peaceful afterlife. After all, he had never felt so very healthy and alive in his time on earth, nor ever had sheets of cream-colored Egyptian cotton, or emerald green silk hangings on his four poster bed. As he looked around his room, he noted an archway covered by a green-trimmed cream door curtain that presumably led to a bathroom, small decorations in silver, cream, or green, cream walls, and green carpeting and trim. There were no windows, and, startlingly, there was no door. This finally tipped Severus off on his actual status: prisoner.

When he though about this, he realized he really wasn't that surprised. The room was far too good to be true. He wondered what was going to happen to him. Suddenly there was soft _pop_ and his master appeared. A horrible thought entered his mind. Had Voldemort healed him only to torture him all over again? Was this the penitence of his sins? Being tortured and healed, over and over again, until his last breath?

"No, Severus, that is not my plan," said the Dark Lord. Had he used legilimency? Severus checked his shields and nearly groaned aloud in dismay when he found them totally ruined. He tried to reconstruct, but found himself unable put up even the most flimsy mental barrier.

"I do apologize for having so utterly damaged you occlumency skills, but, as you no doubt realized, I was feeling rather unforgiving at the moment. Your abilities will return to you in time, most likely in three to four years."

"Will I live so long?" Snape asked bitterly.

"Most certainly. I _did _say I have uses for you. Or rather, I have uses for one Flavius Felicianus."

"Flavius Felicianus? Who is…" Severus caught sight of the Dark Lord's smirk, and a lock of his hair chose that moment to swing in front of his face. Ever so slowly, as though not quite believing his eyes, Snape reached and took the lock in his hands and inspected its new, bright shade.

"I truly hope this is _not_ permanent."

Voldemort's smirk widened. Then Snape's mind connected the new hair and the name. "Oh, gods, I did go to hell after all. Am I going to have to answer to a name that means "golden" and another meaning "happy" for the rest of my life, or is this just some cruel joke you came up with?"

"Both, Flavius, both, though when I'm finally Emperor of the Magical World, I _might_ allow you to go back to your old appearance. Fortunately for you, that should only be in about twenty or so years. Besides, doesn't "happy" sound so much better than the "stern"? But first, however, 'Severus Snape' has to die to the outside world. Follow me."

Not knowing what else to do, Severus followed his master down the halls of Malfoy Manor. After many twists and turns, they arrived at a heavy, solid metal door. Voldemort ran a finger down a groove in its surface, which briefly turned golden before the door opened. The room inside was tiny, and completely unremarkable besides that one wall had a doorway covered by a fluttering ivory veil.

"Through there is an alternate dimension pocket. You've heard of multiple-compartment trunks, I'm sure? This works in nearly the same way. Through this door, there is a space equivalent to the size of Malfoy Manor. I mostly use it to store my collection of rare books and items, but there is also a potions lab, a greenhouse full of rare plants, and a fitness room, as well as an entire set of living quarters. A house elf has been assigned to prepare your food. You will be allowed your wand if I see good behavior. These will be your lodgings for the next three years. After that, depending on your conduct, I will assign you to a task."

"You mentioned dying?"

"I mentioned your former persona dying. In that alternate dimension-" he gestured towards the veiled doorway "-you are completely gone from this universe and are, in a way, dead to us. That, at least, is what any tracking charm, monitoring spell, locating ritual, and any other way of finding a person or knowing their status will say. Therefore, if you lovely Order attempts to trace you, they will find nothing but floating letters that say 'Severus Snape est mortuus,' and they won't bother trying to find you again. Of course, I will keep you 'dead' for several years, just in case they are willing try for that long. Don't bother trying to escape. I've placed wards so complex upon the portal that by the time you even touch them, I will have arrived, and if you somehow reach the deeper wards, you will be killed by either the magical backlash of the first wards or the death wards I've placed. That would be rather wasteful of your talents."

Severus winced. Death wards were usually nasty pieces of work, and had ways of making your demise as long and painful as possible. The Ancient Egyptians in particular had rather creative ways of killing people through wards. Images of three headed corpses entered his mind.

"Also warded are the rooms with Dark Marks on them. I suggest you stay well away from these places. Other than that, the house-elf will show you around. With that, I bid you adieu." He swept his arm towards the curtain. Hesitantly, Snape stepped closer.

"Oh, and one last thing-" Tom made a stabbing motion with his wand toward Severus and a vial he took out of his pocket filled with blood. Snape's twisted with outrage. "-I will be needing this. Farwell!" With and ironic wave, he banished the other man into the fluttering doorway.

. . .

**Number Twelve Grimmauld Place**

. . .

"Albus, are you sure?" McGonagall asked. Her voiced quavered slightly. The rest of the Order was not so composed. Molly Weasley was sobbing in the corner, and others looked shocked, confused, and some even happy.

"Yes, Minerva, I am quite certain. Severus has never lied to me, and my own artifacts have told me that Harry has indeed passed on. But, as sad as we are for Harry's untimely demise, let us celebrate the dawn of a new time where Voldemort has finally left us all! Let us not waste his heroic sacrifice!"

A wail emanated from the corner before Mrs. Weasley left the room. The others hardly noticed as they began to soundly celebrate in a manner that hadn't been seen in fourteen years.

. . .

**King's Cross Station**

**. . .**

Hermione stepped off of Hogwarts express, trunk in hand, trying not to think of how this was her last time at this particular station. It had been a lonely ride; Ron, Ginny, Luna, and Neville had gone home by floo. A crumpled bill was clenched in one hand. She would pay for a taxi back to her home.

"Hermy-own-nee!" The voice had a thick Bulgarian accent, but Hermione immediately recognized it.

"Victor?" He rushed forward and embraced her, before self-consciously drawing back. "You've improved your pronunciation of my name! But why are you here?"

"Yes, I haff practiced. I came as soon as I could, vonce I got your letter."

"You came for me?"

"Yes, of course! Those barbarian Death Eaters, they haff stolen… haff stolen that vitch is the most precious to a vizard or vitch. I vill tear them limb from limb!"

"Victor! Please calm down." He took several deep breaths.

"Vell, shall ve be going then?"

"Going where?"

"Vy, of course, I haff not yet asked you. Hermy-own-nee, I vould like to invite you to my home in Bulgaria."

It did not take her long to consider.

"I would love to."

. . .

**Longbottom Manor**

**. . .**

Neville moaned from his position on the floor by his fireplace. He could never floo correctly. A hand entered his view, and he gladly took it. Augusta helped her grandson up.

"Gran?" He'd never seen that look in her eyes before. It looked odd on her.

"Neville, child, come here." Nervously, he obeyed. When he was close enough, she scooped him into a hug. "I'm so proud of you, Neville. Fighting Death Eaters and the like. If only the cost wasn't so high."

"Huh?" He was surprised as hell. What happed to the rant he expected on having lost his magic?

"Now, son, did you expect me to yell at you? If there is any good way to lose your magic, it would be fighting for the sake of the Wizarding World. Hell, often whenever Frank went to fight, he came within a hairs-breath of dying, and him a fully trained Auror! It's one of the reasons he and Alice got together; she often was the one to patch him up after missions. Why, they'd both be bursting with pride right now.

"Really?" Neville's voice was uncommonly high.

"Yes, child."

"But, Gran, what am I going to do? I can't do magic anymore… Will I have to work in the muggle world?"

"No son of mine will work as a muggle! I've already contacted several prominent Herboligists about taking on an apprentice. With grades like yours, you'll be sure to get chosen right away."

"Gran?" He couldn't believe what he was hearing!

"You don't need a wand to tend to plants, dear."

Only later did he realize she had called him 'son'.

. . .

**The Burrow**

**. . .**

Ron and Ginny were sitting at the kitchen table, shoulders slumped, identical expressions of misery on their faces. Mrs. Weasley stumbled out of the fireplace, face blotchy with tears.

"Hi mum," said Ron half-heartedly. She nodded in his direction. She already had a pot of stew half-way ready by the time she realized what was wrong with her children being home.

"What happened?" she asked, her voice dull. Ron and Ginny were stunned at how meek she seemed. Wordlessly Ron passed her an envelope Dumbledore gave them. She read it, her already distraught face becoming even more so as she learned her children's fate. She began to sob and crushed them into a group hug.

"Oh my poor babies. Those awful Death Eaters!" Her eyes adopted a murderous glint. "Are you sure you don't know who did it?" They nodded. "Because if you did, I'd bloody tear them apart!" The two youngest Weasleys were again shocked, not by her bloodlust, but rather at the fact she cursed, right in front of them. She caught sight of the flyers they carried.

"What are those?"

Ron shrugged. He hadn't bothered to read them. He passed them to her.

"Intensive Muggle Studies course? 'For Wizards with jobs that come in constant contact with Muggles or who wish to live peacefully in Muggle towns. One year course for basic, Five years for a Muggle Secondary School diploma, Eight for a Bachelor's degree. Full courses on Muggle History, Mathematics, Literature, Electronics, Science, Home Life, and Popular Culture. Also, for an additional fee, a course for those who wish to teach Muggle Studies at schools. Yearly Fee 20 galleons!'" She then noticed a small, shrunken bag under the papers. She un-shrunk it and gasped when it jingled. A small note was attached.

Dear Molly,

I know you dislike accepting charity, but please consider this a gift from me to your wonderful children. I would like them to use it to pay for any schooling they may need to make a living. Please keep the extra. After all, nothing can repay how the Weasleys accepted young Harry into your hearts and home. I will not take the money back.  
Have a lovely summer.

_Albus Dumbledore_

Hands shaking, she opened the bag. The inside was not filled with bronze, nor silver, but piece upon piece of shining gold. There had to be at least five thousand galleons within its depths. She realized the bag was also expensive, and obviously enchanted to be light and hold much more than your average potato sack. Unable to comprehend the sudden way they had become rich, plus the emotional trauma that she had already gone through, she fainted.

. . .

**Lovegood Residence AKA"The Rook"**

**. . .**

Luna bounced unhappily into her house, having just come in from their outdoor fireplace. Her father immediately noticed her distress.

"Dirigible Plum juice, my little gurdyroot?"

"No thanks, Dad."

"Okay, my little Plimpie. Take care not to let the Nargles near!"

"Yes, Dad."

She bounced (still unhappily) upstairs, to her room, and picked up her painting supplies. This, at least, she could still do. She had always preferred painting the muggle way. As she dipped her brush into a pot of emerald paint, she pondered it. Could she, perhaps, make a living this way? Set up a stall in Diagon Alley and paint portraits? She knew people, pure-bloods especially, complained about how no-one painted half-way well anymore, and her paintings did seem rather realistic. All it took to make a proper Wizarding portrait was a drop of the portrait's subject's blood and a few drawn runes. For other paintings she could buy special Wizarding paints to make them move. There had been plenty of squib painters throughout history. She lamented the fact that the Death Eaters had taken Harry's blood. Nevertheless, she carefully drew a pair of bright green eyes. She didn't think Harry would mind her using his portrait to advertise. Her dowry would be more than enough to rent a stall for a few months.

She didn't need a husband, anyway.


End file.
